tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85598206155572073322024-02-18T20:36:14.056-08:00Sapphokinesis"Those who are awake walk through chaos wielding personal magic. Mine is creativity. It doesn’t matter if it’s art or writing. Creativity is my weapon against a crazy world."
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.comBlogger316125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-33577813190196968752013-12-16T16:26:00.001-08:002013-12-16T18:45:22.147-08:00Full Moon Christmas Wishes<div class="MsoNormal">
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I’ve been working since the end of September; almost three
full months. Happily, I seem to have
found my groove and don’t feel quite as exhausted. Just
in time for the holidays, too. I had to
consciously strip away some of my extracurricular activities to do so, however,
so things like Art Guild events, holiday bazaars, and my actual art have been
put on the back burner. I had a table
booked at <st1:city w:st="on">Pacifica</st1:city>’s
ELF Market that I ended up forfeiting, too.
I needed and still need to focus
on my family, the house, and the holidays.
That’s ALL I want to focus on now.</div>
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When the muse speaks again, I’ll hear her. </div>
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I’m so looking forward to this Christmas. Our lovely little tree is up, and wrapped packages
are already appearing beneath it. <st1:city w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:city> will be thrilled
with her Christmas booty! I struggled
with some left over anxiety from last year, but having shaken it, I feel more
in the Christmas spirit in a sort of stronger, more confident way. It’s kind of nice.</div>
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If I had to put one word to 2013 it would be “bummer”,
because 2013 sucked big-time. I’ll be
thrilled to see it behind us, as in, “don’t let the door hit you in the ass on
the way out.” I struggled most of the
year with financial worries, Leslie had multiple bouts with cellulitis that
were serious enough to land her in the emergency room more than once and then in
the hospital for four days consecutively.
Immediately thereafter, she got the gout, which was a real hayride.</div>
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Leslie also had a rough run with her sister, after spending
almost a year trying tentatively to reconcile.
Things went well for a while as old wounds were successfully
addressed. But, as soon as it looked
like Leslie had more M&M’s than her sister (if you know what I mean), as
soon as Leslie’s weight loss surgery was scheduled and I got a full-time job;
Jealousy, the old green monster, reared its ugly head once again. Something, and some people, never change.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Lots of good things happened in 2013, too. Leslie had her weight loss surgery, and her
health improves more every day. I
continue to loose weight, as well, ever respectful of the body’s requirements
in this intense process. Our experience was vastly different, which I
find fascinating, even though we had the same procedure done by the same
doctor.</div>
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<st1:city w:st="on">Elizabeth</st1:city>
found her passion in the high school’s Drama Department, the irony of which
still blows my mind. At her age, I was
passionate about theater, too, but I did it to be noticed and she does it for
love … of the craft, that is. I didn’t
have a fraction of the self-discipline she has.
She been watching her weight intensely, is down to a medium from a large,
is working hard at voice lessons, and is working out regularly. What’s more,
she’s kept her grades (all Honors and College Prep classes) at an “A”
consistently. She’s got her eye on the
part of “Audrey” in the Drama Department’s production of “Little Shop of
Horrors” coming up this Spring, and to that end, seems to fully grasp the
phrase “God helps those who help themselves”. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So, I guess 2013 wasn’t all horrible. Still, I won’t be sorry to let it go along
with all the baggage that was in it. I’m looking forward to 2014, and will focus on
losing more weight, and learning everything I need to learn in the new
job. Maybe artistic inspiration will
make an appearance, too.</div>
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<br /></div>
On this full moon, I wish all of you a wonderful Christmas!Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0Pacifica, CA, USA37.6138253 -122.4869194000000337.5132033 -122.64828090000003 37.7144473 -122.32555790000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-65184024824422500242013-12-10T16:32:00.003-08:002013-12-10T18:24:08.704-08:00CHRISTMAS STRESS<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/eDAfUiVYZDw" width="420"></iframe><br />
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Things are better now than they have been in more than three
years. I’m working full time, most of the bills are caught up, and we’ll have a
nice Christmas. I feel anxious, though,
and I can’t figure out why.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Last year at this time, I was working at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Sanchez</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Art</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Center</st1:placename></st1:place>, doing remote work
for a university, and stressing over the upcoming holiday. We had very little
money to spare, but I've also got small scale “holiday trauma” leftover from
when I was a kid and my parents decided to become Jehovah’s Witnesses. There is nothing quite like being banished to
the school library at 7 years old when the rest of your class is having a
Christmas party. Shelving Christmas for
any reason was out of the question. I
stressed over it instead.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, I spent last year’s holiday stressing over the possibility
of letting my family down. Of course,
they didn't feel that way.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pulled a halfway decent holiday out of my ass, but I paid
a price for it in stress. A number of
art commissions just in the nick of time financed much of it. I am grateful for the folks who asked for my
work, but I resented having to fence my art in to make a buck. Now, art is the
last thing on my mind, as though doing it under pressure has ruined the
experience forever.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m grateful to be working, but I resent the time spent
doing it. I've got this pre-menopausal
thing going on, too, and lately I’m moody, fatigued, or aggravated a lot. I've
got all this icky resentment sort of oozing out of my body language and words
all the time, and I know Leslie’s just about had enough of it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I wasn't happy when I was unemployed, and I’m cranky
now. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So, what’s my problem?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Maybe I’m just tired.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This morning, I bumped into a three page article on Mata
Amritanandamayi aka Ammachi in Oprah’s magazine, and I remember Her (Ammachi) saying
that oceans of seekers would be toward Her coming soon. They will now, no doubt.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Maybe I just need a hug.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I hope writing this will help purge the resentment from my
system. There’s a bunch of Christmas
spirit out there waiting to be let in.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I can feel it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16mF51Vp4xbutdjwEdppgIMjJj7091rulmE7NeLZaKlu1JcMEu02_VUrcw2c-2N_RblL0ayKyjZYbc8fJT4Z6FLw-alyBlp3kbpur8c9en7WzEs3Wqu2b9SUKp7w-8nHl2NI5CH6ClXI/s1600/jack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16mF51Vp4xbutdjwEdppgIMjJj7091rulmE7NeLZaKlu1JcMEu02_VUrcw2c-2N_RblL0ayKyjZYbc8fJT4Z6FLw-alyBlp3kbpur8c9en7WzEs3Wqu2b9SUKp7w-8nHl2NI5CH6ClXI/s320/jack.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0San Francisco, CA, USA37.7749295 -122.4194155000000137.373502 -123.06486250000002 38.176356999999996 -121.77396850000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-18302084740784566712013-10-19T20:12:00.000-07:002013-10-19T23:30:08.566-07:00Fast Forward to Zombies<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
is a glorious day in Pacifica. The
weather back here in the valley is always different than the rest of the
town. While we benefit from the
insulating coolness of a morning marine layer, we’re also just one mountain
away from Millbrae, which is 20 degrees hotter than the rest of the
Peninsula. It’s a lazy Saturday, too,
almost 4 p.m. as I write this, and no one is dressed. We really need the downtime. Since I’ve started a 40 hour work week, it
feels like someone pushed the fast forward on my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Putting
the Bart strike aside, it’s been good. Despite
being tired, we’re relaxing in a way that only financial security can provide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqMPytAdOHt0e-QY5hwkh5wUTv1ygFyABpKMlVprekt9RDiY9_5Yt0aC_tYpVic1UkG7p0WicP1m4ApXwCh2UqyssC7F21JQj4xh7FXVKSk13_GLNo13L_4qZB3_2CelZgQrwVWPPbH0/s1600/walking-dead-universal-r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqMPytAdOHt0e-QY5hwkh5wUTv1ygFyABpKMlVprekt9RDiY9_5Yt0aC_tYpVic1UkG7p0WicP1m4ApXwCh2UqyssC7F21JQj4xh7FXVKSk13_GLNo13L_4qZB3_2CelZgQrwVWPPbH0/s320/walking-dead-universal-r.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Elizabeth’s
schedule is crazy and demanding, and has been all junior year. She has college
prep and honors classes, and college prep and honors homework, as well as
rehearsals for the Fall play she’s in at school. She has voice lessons on Tuesdays, and
rehearsals on Monday, Wednesday and Friday until 6 p.m. When she gets home in the early evening,
she’s starving, and has two hours of homework that she can’t even look at until
she’s had dinner. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Elizabeth’s
girlfriend called last night wanting to go to a football game. Elizabeth finds them intensely boring and
hasn’t been to one since her first as a freshman. She asked, “What do you do
when you’re there?” to which her friend replied, “Oh just walk around and talk
to people.” When Elizabeth got off the
phone, her secret answer, the one she shared with us was, “Why does she want to
talk to a bunch of people she doesn’t care about?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Leslie
is doing well after weight loss surgery in September. She had the same procedure I did by the same
surgeon, and she’s doing much better than I ever did. She takes in more than enough water, eats a
wide variety of foods, and is more active than I was. She finds the new schedule difficult, but no
more than I do, and only because she’s in that awkward fatigued stage that
comes right after surgery. Her body is adjusting to radically less calories
(read about my experience <a href="http://sapphokinesis.blogspot.com/2012/07/fatigue-going-with-it.html">here</a>). Still,
she gets up early every morning to drive us to our destination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU1Bsus1_Q-ZMrLa26QCnLlFMx-AaUdR4Kl50xPQdXp59XJbdKrTJ_oUXrJ9ZOftoOfhhTJ-D_78mYLDECg69vhJZzN_aL4XfImkblcdeKd6D_5AMKE98kaccJfZF272XVu1r2dfAB3E/s1600/picture007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU1Bsus1_Q-ZMrLa26QCnLlFMx-AaUdR4Kl50xPQdXp59XJbdKrTJ_oUXrJ9ZOftoOfhhTJ-D_78mYLDECg69vhJZzN_aL4XfImkblcdeKd6D_5AMKE98kaccJfZF272XVu1r2dfAB3E/s320/picture007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My own perfect zombies!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lately,
the three of us spend much anticipated Friday evenings and other available
evening time glued to the television and “The Walking Dead”. We didn’t know it
existed until Elizabeth discovered a latent love for zombies watching “Warm
Bodies” on Pay-per-View. By then,
however, “The Walking Dead” was three seasons in, much too far for us to catch
up. Suddenly, as a build-up to season
four, there was a zombiepocalypse-a-thon, and I could tape all three
seasons. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Walking Dead” is a lot like “Downton Abbey”.
It’s one big soap opera gloriously punctuated by cleaved in and/or crushed
skulls, severed limbs, gnashing teeth, and black oozing and suppurating undead
brains. We talk through most of it,
express our disdain for certain characters, shriek our hope that the right
person will be gruesomely assassinated, and holler “Eeeeewwww” as a steel bar
or hunting knife is pushed through a walker’s forehead. Leslie doesn’t typically watch any kind of
horror of science fiction, but once she got beyond the gross parts, the drama
pulled her right in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Walking Dead” is perfectly disgusting, and we love it. But, the best part is that Elizabeth doesn’t
want us watching it without her. After
an exhausting 40 hour work week, getting up super early every day, and dealing
with a ridiculously demanding junior year schedule, zombies are a soothing
balm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Watching
them together, however, is the perfect prescription.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0Pacifica, CA, USA37.6138253 -122.4869194000000337.5132033 -122.64828090000003 37.7144473 -122.32555790000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-5661101109014521162013-10-09T06:37:00.001-07:002013-10-09T06:37:36.510-07:00Chubby Commuter<div class="MsoNormal">
Fatty, fatty, two by four, couldn't get through the bathroom
door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, so I never really heard this when I was heavy. Not literally. I am, however, surprised by the subtle ways I
was discriminated against when I <b>was</b>
heavy. I didn’t fully appreciate it
until I got on a BART train headed for my new job downtown at over 100 pounds
thinner than I was the last time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It is physically much easier to sit on the seats in BART,
and I don’t have to worry about sitting next to someone as large as I was. What really caught me off guard was how
people aren’t hesitant to sit next to me.
When they do, our hips don’t touch, which is a huge personal
relief. I don’t feel the barely
concealed sneers and judgments I used to feel.
Men look at me. I suppose if I
found that important, I’d be happy about it.
Now, it just feels like a weird sociological measuring device that I
could easily do without. I surprised
myself most recently by hiking up BART stairs because of escalator repair and
not having to rest at the top.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I was at my heaviest when we lived in <st1:place w:st="on">Connecticut</st1:place> between 2006 and 2008. I got up to 340 pounds, and back then I
applied and interviewed for more than four good jobs in <st1:city w:st="on">New York City</st1:city>, which is where you had to go
to get decent pay. I came very close on
several of them. Leslie is convinced my
weight was a barrier, a thought I didn’t want to consider too seriously then
for obvious reasons. Beyond that, had I been hired, my weight would have made
commuting to the city extremely difficult.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m convinced I wouldn’t have this job if I was heavy. My client contact is a nice enough guy, but
he is nervous, too. He’s the kind of
fellow who would be uncomfortable with a very heavy woman no matter how
experienced she was. In my interview, it
took him less than five minutes to announce he loved me, a decision he made
based on first impression. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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If I was fat?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am working very hard to get used to working full time
again. I’m tired much of the time. How much harder would this be if I was heavy?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure, it’s a person’s right to be fat. I felt that way when
I was. But back then I didn’t feel I had
a choice. Having a choice, and making a
decision toward better health has made a positive impact in my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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I see that quite clearly.<o:p></o:p></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-84480336408741699892013-09-27T12:04:00.001-07:002013-09-27T21:35:28.190-07:00The Waters Parted and I Came Up for Air<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_P-nPb6eRh2aO0OTEjPvoKvImGpWMAg7UQR8HsZ4xRPSL1ASnYrrWgtoEM7HpaZnyds3JVhzlBYo1UtAnnGWVkMBABKEjlJQ6Rx8LlRvH9Ih26MIFq2nFZ1JagGVxf2Xu_XH2sI0KS4/s1600/5367416019_2632347733_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_P-nPb6eRh2aO0OTEjPvoKvImGpWMAg7UQR8HsZ4xRPSL1ASnYrrWgtoEM7HpaZnyds3JVhzlBYo1UtAnnGWVkMBABKEjlJQ6Rx8LlRvH9Ih26MIFq2nFZ1JagGVxf2Xu_XH2sI0KS4/s200/5367416019_2632347733_b.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It happened again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just as we seemed somewhat secure with our finances for the
autumn season, one of my part time jobs suddenly dissolved. That’s the sort of thing that happens in this
economy. It thrust me back in the job
hunt with renewed intensity, and the knowledge that I had a month to get a job,
any job, before the bottom fell out of our precarious little boat. It also meant the possibility of leaving my
job at the gallery, which I loved.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As readily as we found ourselves in financial distress
repeatedly over the last two years, the waters parted, and a job found me. My resume was discovered on Monster, although
I don’t remember leaving it there, and I received a call and an invitation to
interview. In contrast to the many
interviews that were awkward or a bad fit, this one went exceedingly well. I was perfect for the job, down to earth, had
the right skill set and knowledge … all the right things. </div>
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I got hired.</div>
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Yesterday, I walked through <st1:place w:st="on">San Francisco</st1:place>, the third day on the job, and
it felt as though I’d never left. Traffic
is worse than it was two years ago, and there are just as many people on the
street in the city. I’m 140 pounds lighter than I was two years
ago and more confident, and considerably lighter in spirit; yet it feels
odd. <st1:place w:st="on">I'm certain San Francisco</st1:place>’s young and beautiful patronized
that oyster bar at the Ferry Building whether I was working or not. </div>
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<br /></div>
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No matter. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am astonished by the magic that kept us
afloat, and the angels that gave us critical gifts. I'm surprised I don't regret having to let go of some of my plans, like my tap class. All things in good time, I guess. I am still hounded by things left undone, things I must finish, and by other things I've committed to do. But I find myself with less time than ever. This is the trade off for financial security, I guess. Even if it is only as secure as the current job allows. I haven't felt this tired in, well ... two and a half years. What's more, I find myself truly missing that little
gallery and the people there. Maybe it’s
because it was there for me when I needed a job. Maybe it’s because the people I worked with
are undoubtedly human and helped me get back to myself by replacing the little
pieces of professional and personal confidence slowly picked away by the last
full-time position I had. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The gallery was a safe haven.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like personal tragedy, unemployment is a dark hole that you
don’t appreciate and couldn't possibly understand unless you are thrust down
it. Even under the most encouraging circumstances
it does subtle and not-so-subtle things to your head. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it’s done, once the waters
have parted, it’s like coming up for air.</div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-39093787006322135142013-07-19T21:45:00.000-07:002013-07-19T23:06:00.538-07:00Tap Dance in Pacifica<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTdi3z-a09FLeprkCN_rRFSi2KdIESNcY3RBYirHeZD6Y4FcaFykWpPxb7vYc_NieolRNTOVC1HGXXWEEjjF2d3HCM7QX7H4-e4J05Aa8qDXmcGMpIuO4AfPp-4DO6idNV6HaxqM4gxA/s1600/tap+dance+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTdi3z-a09FLeprkCN_rRFSi2KdIESNcY3RBYirHeZD6Y4FcaFykWpPxb7vYc_NieolRNTOVC1HGXXWEEjjF2d3HCM7QX7H4-e4J05Aa8qDXmcGMpIuO4AfPp-4DO6idNV6HaxqM4gxA/s200/tap+dance+3.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I
loved dancing school when I was a kid.
It was more than dancing school.
It was the foundation for whatever paltry confidence I dragged with me
into adulthood, and it kept me out of trouble in more ways than I can
count. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
suffered through ballet class. We all
did. The bar work, no matter how it toned my body in a way I </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">didn't</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> appreciate
at the time, was grueling. Connie had us bending and twist and holding, and it
was difficult and painful. The tap
dance, however, was thoroughly enjoyable. Nobody taught like Connie did. She was striking, demanding, and talented,
and she endowed my feet with 15 years’ worth of tap routines that are forever
emblazoned in my muscle memory (a term she used frequently). Waltz clogs, time steps (single, double, and
triple), shuffle off to Buffalo, Fred Astaire breaks, chugs, flaps, slaps and
travelling steps are all accessible to me now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihE4WDIX70SnWLMU5D4J7in85Z7f0UpC4XYPpq_9G6qwetTqbCy9sAOhUvzNYyNkNeXZBL41lDNiNfN_A2RtgcPB-nA_nHmSvWTTK72dponRIjUtV_ruCA8jP71g6QqWF4SpbzN3cyIQE/s1600/tap+dance+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihE4WDIX70SnWLMU5D4J7in85Z7f0UpC4XYPpq_9G6qwetTqbCy9sAOhUvzNYyNkNeXZBL41lDNiNfN_A2RtgcPB-nA_nHmSvWTTK72dponRIjUtV_ruCA8jP71g6QqWF4SpbzN3cyIQE/s200/tap+dance+1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before
my weight loss surgery a year ago, tap dance was one of the things that
motivated and excited me. Elizabeth’s sophomore
year high school musical and
dance recital fired me up even more.
Now, I’m pursing it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> listed two classes in Pacifica’s Park & Rec Fall Play book. Beginners Adult Tap Dance is offered twice
with a series of six classes in September/October, and six classes in
October/November; two sessions back to back.
I’m holding the classes in the little dance studio at the Pacifica
Community Center. It’s got bars, mirrors
and everything.</span></span></div>
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</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1NgH19aOXpEhPmGE9cfQ_piWscqw9RLQ_D_18t5DyQUrxSEQo5w2NrPcXa8UYk-xlTqCp28FF0tKQy29ZOgFPgcVZCWsK_g5gYZcWPZua-hRruJBjCaQ_BZdhNrs8A45-6OuWQ-AwXY4/s1600/tap+dance+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1NgH19aOXpEhPmGE9cfQ_piWscqw9RLQ_D_18t5DyQUrxSEQo5w2NrPcXa8UYk-xlTqCp28FF0tKQy29ZOgFPgcVZCWsK_g5gYZcWPZua-hRruJBjCaQ_BZdhNrs8A45-6OuWQ-AwXY4/s200/tap+dance+2.jpg" width="157" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
am poised to launch an intensive local marketing campaign with flyers,
postcards, ads in the paper and on Pacifica’s public access channel, and a
website dedicated exclusively to tap dance.
I think I’ll call it “Pacifica Tap”.
I want to apply what I've learned about press at Sanchez Art Center to
this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">There
is a tiny possibility that I might be able to teach a class at Spindrift, too,
but we’ll see if it works out. It </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">doesn't</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> matter to me one way or the other. What
matters to me is my health and readiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I
better get ready.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Don’tcha
think?</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0Pacifica, CA, USA37.6138253 -122.4869194000000337.5132033 -122.64828090000003 37.7144473 -122.32555790000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-50117135629438193292013-06-10T13:24:00.002-07:002013-06-10T16:53:05.597-07:00Thoughts on a Road Trip<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwjxpMEoI2_9jmo-Fwc9Xm9uxFeZqnV7xnxGlvyYBkpsDwXQDHynjBAnNMkvbQRLZMD-1jgSm3OXTbp3fYbOT1q5TRICw4PiiLX1wEEVC5g09glao7LFliAkue2mrUM_SZC0QBGi3nCA/s1600/road+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwjxpMEoI2_9jmo-Fwc9Xm9uxFeZqnV7xnxGlvyYBkpsDwXQDHynjBAnNMkvbQRLZMD-1jgSm3OXTbp3fYbOT1q5TRICw4PiiLX1wEEVC5g09glao7LFliAkue2mrUM_SZC0QBGi3nCA/s200/road+3.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">We went on a road
trip Sunday. Didn't have much money in
our pockets, but we had a full tank of gas and an itch to be on the road. Our destination was somewhere up north, as
far as we could get before we’d turn around and return the same day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">It's 17.2 miles
from our house to the Golden Gate Bridge, and then it's all freeways. The
Golden Gate has always represented a portal to freedom to me. Once I get there,
I know I’m going somewhere special, somewhere outside our usual stomping
grounds. It was encased in fog, but there were plenty of walkers getting blown
about like leaves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">On the freeway, there
was a moment when we wished for a laser gun to use on the person in the red
Ferrari ahead of us. He was in desperate need of absolute disintegration,
talking on his cell phone, oblivious to the travelers around him, and driving a
good 15 miles slower than the rest of traffic. Once Leslie's coffee kicked in,
she started navigating traffic like the professional she was and still is. We
left him in our smoke to pick up coastal Highway One at Mill Valley. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnIpNwujIWOojR6fOSZDk7SXrdrDix-cdkJNWcryGlBfPXyoHaeS5Th1SYboiijmk8YCc215aMCdsnT5t5KeRdPkenIReFSHkIuFyjr3r2Yte-1XGUlHW35mvep1WtGsVKHJOaYxkw-Y/s1600/road+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnIpNwujIWOojR6fOSZDk7SXrdrDix-cdkJNWcryGlBfPXyoHaeS5Th1SYboiijmk8YCc215aMCdsnT5t5KeRdPkenIReFSHkIuFyjr3r2Yte-1XGUlHW35mvep1WtGsVKHJOaYxkw-Y/s200/road+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Before too long, we
noticed there were many buses, tour buses. Then, it occurred to us we were
close to the Muir Woods. By the time we
drove the twisty-turny hairpin turns that took us up the mountain to the Muir
Woods Overlook, Elizabeth was horribly and unexpectedly car sick. How could we
forget about her car sickness? She moved to the front seat, but it didn’t
help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The poor baby was
green around the gills, so we hung out at the Overlook deciding what to do.</span><br />
<br />
I hiked around for
a bit and took a few pictures. It was windy,
much like the Golden Gate Bridge. Mist hung on everything. People still stopped to take in the vistas,
though, even those wearing a towel wrapped around a bathing suit. It was very chilly.</div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtNDfLKMWc3QUQkYJPFqb9rVgZ22QLdSoL76wk24rUSzCJcYQCGG_TUjNSI0P_d5kdtv9O8HlUdJvr9kK4T-ttmKSITPVEBvWllxwvcpNvk65ySKQQ50FUlwJZqVJ70X2aCBLDLR4864/s1600/road+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtNDfLKMWc3QUQkYJPFqb9rVgZ22QLdSoL76wk24rUSzCJcYQCGG_TUjNSI0P_d5kdtv9O8HlUdJvr9kK4T-ttmKSITPVEBvWllxwvcpNvk65ySKQQ50FUlwJZqVJ70X2aCBLDLR4864/s320/road+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Given that the next
cross over to Highway 101 was a good 100 miles of north bound twisting and
turning, we decided to head backward toward home and call it a day. Elizabeth
was sick enough. The drive back down the
hill was slow and careful. The stress of high school is gone right now, so she
let Leslie mother her through the car sickness, rubbing her back, and offering
bi-carb so she’d feel better. I sat in the back seat listening to Leslie and
Elizabeth converse, struck by the subtle differences in our parenting styles
and how we communicate with her, but always in awe of Leslie’s tenderness and
caring. I got a clear and increasingly rare glimpse of how much our daughter
relies on and shares with us as she balances the tightrope that runs between
childhood and adulthood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Once we got past
the Bridge and into the City, Elizabeth was herself again, talking and laughing.
We discussed topics revolving around school, social interaction, and her
friends. She’s not afraid of things like teen suicide, which she runs up
against at least once a year, or discussing the kids we know who’ve tried to kill
themselves. She has a logical way of rationalizing and understanding it without
passing judgment. She is more reserved, for example, if she needs to tell us
she got a C on a test, but if it’s about her feelings getting hurt or some sort
of problem at school, with a little prodding, she’s up front with it. Leslie
knows when something is amiss, for example, and will gently ask repeatedly if
everything is okay until finally Elizabeth tells her what’s going on. We are
very fortunate that Elizabeth is as well-adjusted as she is, and that’s she’s
not afraid to talk to us. And we’re also
fortunate she can navigate her way through high school without getting lost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxKwJyTXYhv2WEStidJEmfopC6k6owdKr0uO-NdP1BiWbYIV-m_tKonQr5641kF_DdEkxvrP1o60Tgh0ytjkWQnb5H2u4_gKJPViHS33EEM3P-OXEPymyhEmWGCTNaGYvnSns73_2TBw/s1600/road+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxKwJyTXYhv2WEStidJEmfopC6k6owdKr0uO-NdP1BiWbYIV-m_tKonQr5641kF_DdEkxvrP1o60Tgh0ytjkWQnb5H2u4_gKJPViHS33EEM3P-OXEPymyhEmWGCTNaGYvnSns73_2TBw/s200/road+1.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">We also talked
about silly topics like the boy group, One Direction, and Elizabeth’s
frustration when we can’t identify which one is singing. My short fall, I’m
sorry to say, as Leslie seems to nail it every time. When I look at Elizabeth
with that blue hair, I still can’t believe she came out of my belly. We know
some parents would have a problem with a head full of Manic Panic Blue, even if
it is a perfectly harmless way for a teenager to express herself. We feel quite
strongly, however, that there will be no piercings or tattoos, thank you very
much. We figured out long ago that a parent must carefully pick where to put a
foot down. A heavy hand or judgmental
tone can easily alienate a growing teen.
And then what do you have?</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">We had a wonderful
family day in spite of the unexpected problems.
After all, that was the point right from the start.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-41448098296151420622013-05-27T12:03:00.002-07:002013-05-28T10:46:45.792-07:00Memorial Day Musings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyV6WIhTPuc3QZ3Z4rgC9HeMfTedgSqu299ZYpZYcXIreX-ihGYtiAQ7E5iDn3TuuiaBi8UzZEzRwwZhYJede25ttyHv2w-V0K0j0Io8JNIY9AqEcax8FE4OByegKlIEJv9TKY5sJgbx4/s1600/post+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyV6WIhTPuc3QZ3Z4rgC9HeMfTedgSqu299ZYpZYcXIreX-ihGYtiAQ7E5iDn3TuuiaBi8UzZEzRwwZhYJede25ttyHv2w-V0K0j0Io8JNIY9AqEcax8FE4OByegKlIEJv9TKY5sJgbx4/s400/post+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Memorial
Day 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Time
accelerates as you grow older. The years
whiz by. Just yesterday, Elizabeth was
standing first in line outside her new fifth grade classroom, excited to meet
her new teacher, wearing an outfit Leslie picked out for her. That’s changed
because fashion, as she states adamantly, is an important part of who she
is. She takes up to 45 minutes at night
figuring out what to wear the next day. Now, Elizabeth has completed her sophomore
year of high school. Sophomore year! And
today was the very first day we didn’t have to be anywhere, go anywhere, or do
anything. We all slept in and it was heavenly. In fact, just having Elizabeth
home with no plans and no stress felt really, really good. It’s as though time slowed down just for this
weekend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKDgyM0X-38QGXmMH_j1iz9YyRlkTRs-owWmILpcYSbM__F4sj_PkGBshe15ioSDZcFM6-B0Mw0W2rlpaZJ3wAP3rFJgI8ls_388GDjHinYiTDkDzUJsimMAix0N-5XDpRKQAiAGQUVc/s1600/post+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKDgyM0X-38QGXmMH_j1iz9YyRlkTRs-owWmILpcYSbM__F4sj_PkGBshe15ioSDZcFM6-B0Mw0W2rlpaZJ3wAP3rFJgI8ls_388GDjHinYiTDkDzUJsimMAix0N-5XDpRKQAiAGQUVc/s320/post+2.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
last few months have been hard. Elizabeth’s schedule was off the charts with
rehearsals, the high school musical “Grease”, a dance recital, homework,
finals, and the pressure and angst that go with it. She found her niche with the Drama
Department, and even after the show, the kids are making a strong effort to
stay together. A few weeks ago, they went to House of Air in San Francisco,
which was a hoot (see <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_CvbJERLak">video</a>), then spent time at the new Round Table Pizza in
town, which is clean and delicious. Saturday night, they were at Mary’s until
midnight swimming, re-viewing their performance of “Grease”, and then
descending on Ross in onesies. At sixteen, Elizabeth is reluctantly caught
between being a child and being a young adult.
She expresses her independence in different ways, and now her hair, all
of her hair, is a bright, Manic Panic blue.
We can easily pick her out of a crowd of 50,000. Still, she and her friends seek out
opportunities to be silly. Soon enough,
she’ll grow more serious as she paves a path to adulthood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Leslie’s
health is finally improving. What
started out as a singular case of cellulitis in her right foot in mid-March,
turned into nine weeks of hell made tolerable only by the uncanny way our
Boston Bull, Daizy, NEVER left Leslie’s side, and ministered to her literally
whenever she got upset. It was really something to see. Leslie spent four days in the hospital, but
after the oral antibiotics left her system, the cellulitis rebounded with a vengeance.
Elizabeth’s show “Grease”, and her dance recital, for that matter, occurred in
the middle of all this. Sitting through a performance was painful as Leslie’s
foot swelled like a blowfish. And she had to reschedule the trip she planned to see her sister in Iowa, which was very disappointing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Two
trips to the emergency room and plenty of IV antibiotics later, the cellulitis
cleared up in time for the left foot to start in. No lie. At this point, Leslie
was extremely frustrated with her lack of mobility, tired of taking so much
medication, and getting worried it would never end. Even a trip to the bathroom was difficult. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
left foot turned out to be the gout. It
wasn’t a stress fracture from hopping around with cellulitis, and it wasn’t a
blood clot. We checked. No, her uric acid levels were super high. It was no doubt the gout. The gout. How
horrible does that sound? When I was a
kid, the gout was discussed in tones of disgust. Connie talked about it like it
was leprosy. “It hurt so bad,” she
barked, “I told them to take my leg off!”
Leslie’s pain was an 8 on a scale of 1 to 10 even though we caught it
early. The first round of medication was prednisone (steroids), and it did
nothing but hide the symptoms for a short time and make her feel terrible. A week later, two more medications, and daily
doses of concentrated cherry juice, and the gout began to recede. The pain, however, seemed to go on forever. The
osteoarthritis was extremely irritated by all this, too.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> What's more, she had to cancel her rescheduled trip to Iowa once again, as if the universe just didn't want her to go there! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Today
was the first day Leslie got out her walking sticks and walked tentatively down
the street. It was a brief walk, although more than I expected, and it was an
effort toward regaining her strength, which she feels intensely motivated to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Adjunct
to this, and I’m climbing on my soapbox here, all of Leslie’s health issues
were either caused by or exacerbated by her weight, which, for the record, isn’t
that horrible. She was much, much
heavier ten years ago before her total knee replacement in 2002 and has been conscientious
ever since. When you’re at a point where
moving or exercising is painful, and you’re plagued with muscles that tweak and
joints that scream at the end of the day, it’s time to take the situation in
hand. Bones aren’t made to carry extra weight, and aging bones will object
vehemently. That’s what I had to do, and why I sound like I’m preaching (there’s
nothing more annoying than a reformed fat person). Despite still having issues I must work on, at
the very least I’m not lugging an extra 120 pounds when I climb the
stairs. My thoughts are this: If you’re
a large woman, a thick madam, of 50 or thereabouts, and frightened of
disability or immobility, don’t be afraid to do something about it. The
glitches have been worked out of weight loss surgery, and we’re lucky enough to
have a pioneer in the field right here at Mills Peninsula. There’s no reason to
remain caged by your body. End of
soapbox.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next
week, Leslie goes to see Dr. Wetter, the surgeon who did my weight loss
surgery. The appointment can’t come soon
enough as far as she’s concerned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
summer will be a chance to be together as a family and strengthen the bonds
stressed by illness and crazy schedules.
I knew May was going to be a financial challenge, so we spent a lot of
time doing yard sales and chasing bills.
It was the month stuck between transitions around income. I’m glad to see May come to a close. Leslie will teach Elizabeth how to drive
(another rite of passage that blows my mind).
Elizabeth will undoubtedly spend a lot of time with her brand new
acoustic guitar which she taught herself how to play. And she’ll do a month
long musical theater summer camp in July at Spindrift right here in town. Rehearsals are Monday through Friday from noon
to 7 pm. Awesome! Leslie’s focus will be on nailing down the
various mandatory tests and appointments prior to her weight loss surgery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
want to spend the summer transitioning into my new responsibilities at Sanchez
Art Center, which I’m excited about, working with Tracey on an art commission
(which I’m exceedingly grateful for), and doing lots of art and writing (the
inspiration for which is banging in my head).
I’ve got an art exhibition happening at Pacifica’s Community Center in
July, and there are a few pieces I’d like to complete for that. My fiction manuscript, which I’m more than
halfway through, is pulling at me again.
If I get into the 50/50 at Sanchez, that means 50 pieces of small art
(6x6) over 50 days which will be a challenge and an opportunity to complete my
pop-culture tarot deck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
spiritual mother, Sri Karunamayi or Amma, was in town just as Leslie’s
cellulitis was at its worst, so I missed the Bay Area programs. Then, in an unusual scheduling move, she came
back a month later, just as Leslie’s gout was at its peak. I was very
disappointed even as I knew for certain that my family comes before everything,
even my spirituality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
I’ve learned anything from the last several months, it’s this: There are some things we can change and many
things we cannot, but time marches on regardless and whether or not we change what
we dislike about ourselves. Change is
self-motivated. It can also be
frightening. But it beats sitting on the couch because you’re too fatigued to
do anything else, waiting for the next time your back goes out. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">One day you may turn around, 150 pounds heavier than when you were 16, and staring down the barrel at 50 years of age. That's not going to be me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Having
the time to be with my family and to do my art and writing is a blessing. But,
of course, it’s balanced by a need for greater financial security. Someday soon, this time will come to an
end. I plan to enjoy it while it lasts. I also know without a doubt, that my greatest wish
is for Leslie and I to be present and healthy if and when Elizabeth has
children. We're taking steps to make that happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Soon
enough, Elizabeth will be off to college, Leslie will be 150 pounds lighter, and I
really will be 50 years old!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Time really does fly.</span></div>
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Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-62409174910812149282013-04-23T20:16:00.004-07:002013-04-25T07:52:25.082-07:00"Pippin", "Grease", and the Benefit of High School Musicals to the Growing Teen<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">Grease is the word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">It is in this house, anyway. Our daughter, Elizabeth, plays “Frenchie” in
her high school’s musical “Grease”, and I can’t tell you how it tickles
me. I snuck back stage during rehearsals
a few times when I picked her up, and doing so brought it all back.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">The one thing that kept me sane when I
was a teenager was children’s theatre at Constance Moore’s “Children’s Theater
Workshop”. Miss Connie, as we called
her, had about 300 students and each year incorporated them and their dancing
lessons into a musical. We, the bigger
kids, got to audition for the musical roles in each show. Let’s see ... we did “Gypsy”, “Hello Dolly”, “Babes
in Toyland”, “Music Man”, among others. The year we did "42nd Street", I was the character lead and the stage manager. I knew every single cue in that script. I was 16. During the summers, we were
occupied with community theater where we did “Oklahoma”, “Mame”, “The
Unsinkable Molly Brown” and “Pippin”. I
was Fastrada in Pippin, and I tell you, it was one of the best times I’ve ever
had. Jody was Pippin, I was his
stepmother, and Gina was Pippin’s grandmother, Berthe. There was a scene where Gina sang to Jody.
She sang “No Time at All” in a long flowing gown, her head wrapped in veils,
and during one performance, she had Jody absolutely mesmerized to the point where he
forgot his lines. Those were such
wonderful times. Wonderful memories,
too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I went to the local high school’s brand new,
state of the art theater to pick Elizabeth up tonight. T</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">ypically, I have to go back stage to drag her
out of there. “I’m so stressed out,” she
said to me. Then, her director decided to go over another number, and lickety
split she was on the stage with a gaggle of other kids, and they were
ecstatic. No more stress, just joy. That was an hour ago, and now it’s after 8:00
p.m. They’ve been at rehearsal since
3:00 p.m.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">For years, Leslie and I tried to get
Elizabeth involved in one thing or another.
She didn’t like sports, didn’t want to ice skate, and had no interest in
Brownies or even dancing school. But
this high school musical and the drama department has her hooked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large;">It had me hooked when I was a kid, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It feeds confidence. It feeds the spirit. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It's wonderful.</span></span></div>
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Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-77453877826398225642013-04-19T08:31:00.002-07:002013-04-19T08:31:44.749-07:00Make Art, Not War ...<span style="font-size: x-large;">... pick your weapon! <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">❤</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-6431319684065979282013-04-04T23:19:00.000-07:002013-04-05T12:38:52.705-07:00Question the Universe<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
used to have great faith in the powers of the universe. I’m not religious and
never have been, so I don’t put my faith in god, and I don’t walk around
thanking the Goddess for everything. Not out loud, anyway. So, it was all about
the universe for me back then. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Now,
I think the phrase is grossly overused. Every other person I bump into on
Facebook thanks for universe for one thing or another. I’ve noticed the phrase
is also used a lot by younger people, people with few real problems, and people
who know they’ll have enough money for the rent because they have little
responsibility and plenty of excess cash.
These people also see magic in everything. Seeing magic isn’t a bad
thing, but in all things? Granted, I acknowledge magic in many things. I know
that coincidences are rarely coincidences, and I believe in animal symbols and
synchronicity. I even believe in magic.
I just don’t see it absolutely everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That
used to be me. It was easy to see magic everywhere from my office in downtown
San Francisco. I mean, the view there was spectacular. It was easy to
acknowledge the power of the universe through the lens of $100K plus per year. Now, I have a non-profit job that I love. I march to work in a baseball cap and t-shirt with my favorite comic book character on it, size large since I've lost over a hundred pounds, and the view sees me much happier. It might be easier to see through a $100K per year lens, but it doesn't make me as happy as this does, highlighting the enormous difference between "easy" and "happy".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My
past certainty is replaced by unanswered questions, lots of unanswered
questions. Like, why is it possible for bacteria to take down a robust 60 year
old woman? Why is it so hard for me to find a well-paying job that has
benefits? Why is Daizy peeing in the
bedroom upstairs at night all of a sudden instead of outside like she has
without fail for the last 7 years? Why
is good fortune often accompanied by equally bad fortune, as if some kind of
balance must be maintained, and how does one enjoy that good fortune without
guilt?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Truthfully,
I spend considerable time feeling tossed about like a leaf in the wind. I always try to see the bright side of things
because most of the time I have no idea how things work. I can’t simply throw a blanket explanation on
it. Like, I don’t know for certain if we
pick our lifetime before we’re born, and I don’t know that we all travel in
soul groups. I can’t say with certainty that bad things happen to us so our
souls can learn some specific lesson from it.
I like to believe there is a bigger picture because I don’t believe
anything out of a book or religion without question, and because the
alternative, the possibility that there is no purpose to life and our
experiences at all, is simply to grim an alternative to entertain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I do believe in a higher power. It doesn't matter to me if it’s God or Goddess or the universe. What matters is the knowledge that God/Goddess helps those who help themselves. Certainly, it’s the higher power that can deal you an Ace over a Queen in Black Jack. But <b><u>you</u></b> have to understand what’s in your hand and take the initiative to ask for a card.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
guess what I’m saying is that at almost 50, I see less and less of those magic
moments. And when I do, I know they
happen because I helped make them happen.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Donna L. Faber</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">April 5, 2013</span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-34515645349915379652013-03-31T00:24:00.001-07:002013-04-04T12:40:59.448-07:00Infections, Pain Management and Bad Nurses<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81xl1erFiNDZLih0oWifCht9YuvE6m3Yj4e8SJtpFNI9cOtWPdviKWXnoz4YgOTIbWSKn7JKcv17cDwH9KVlE2SDJJBEXJROALgtTSCvZw3lFcBH5Rkk6vt5jdnwVcaSeaRmRBI38YtY/s1600/leslie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81xl1erFiNDZLih0oWifCht9YuvE6m3Yj4e8SJtpFNI9cOtWPdviKWXnoz4YgOTIbWSKn7JKcv17cDwH9KVlE2SDJJBEXJROALgtTSCvZw3lFcBH5Rkk6vt5jdnwVcaSeaRmRBI38YtY/s320/leslie.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It
happened again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">About
two weeks ago, Leslie started complaining about a sore ankle. It wasn’t
horribly sore, just sore enough to be a nuisance. That was Tuesday and Wednesday, week before
last. Friday morning she woke up and it
had begun to swell, really swell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Oh
boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We’d
been through this before. It was about
three weeks before my weight loss surgery last July. I was worried then because her recovery took a
long time, and my surgery was coming up quickly. But then, oral antibiotics did
the trick, and this time they didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That
Friday afternoon, a week ago last Friday, Leslie went to her ortho doctor, who
confirmed it was a bacterial infection. He gave her Keflex, an antibiotic that
targets bacteria specifically. All weekend Leslie was in excruciating pain. She
kept the foot up and iced it, but as the weekend pressed on, her foot got
worse, and so did the pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">On
Monday, the doctor gave Leslie a different antibiotic, this time Septra DS,
with an order to halt the other one. We
had high hopes for success, but Tuesday morning, upon waking, the foot had
gotten worse, and the infection was spreading. She had a doctor’s appointment
that morning. Exercising good judgment, we went straight to the emergency room
at Mills Peninsula in Millbrae.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilD7A1D3XrKJ1yoNwuisWJWNOaUK5FKCCv4KSlzM_cYh9-l5z9adCyIRFa0HhG19KejekteDgn9HHg4AgFpk8KCcoiF5kG-J5sCP8AHqRoBBVqmR17gb7zbK7YBxhOpktBo3NeVq8O52M/s1600/bwus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilD7A1D3XrKJ1yoNwuisWJWNOaUK5FKCCv4KSlzM_cYh9-l5z9adCyIRFa0HhG19KejekteDgn9HHg4AgFpk8KCcoiF5kG-J5sCP8AHqRoBBVqmR17gb7zbK7YBxhOpktBo3NeVq8O52M/s320/bwus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It
wasn’t busy that morning, and we didn’t have to wait long. The emergency doctor
took one look at Leslie’s foot, announced they’d have to admit her, and started
her on IV antibiotics right away. They took blood, and filled up six culture
jars. They also took an x-ray to be sure nothing was broken. Despite the way it
looked to be spreading, the doctor seemed confident it wasn’t in her joints,
which would have been very, very bad. It wasn’t in her blood either, which was
even better. Still, it was Tuesday, and
she’d be in the hospital until at least Friday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
stayed with Leslie for the next few hours, as she got settled in her room and
answered a million questions more than once.
They finally got her pain under control. There was a new nurse’s
assistant there, a student, and he was a nervous wreck. When he went to move
Leslie’s bad foot like it was a bowling ball, I asked that he not return. He didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
next four days were about going back and forth between Millbrae and Pacifica,
being there for Leslie, gathering up Elizabeth when it was time, cooking, and
then fitting in my part-time hours at the art center. I’m so glad my boss is
flexible and understanding. I rarely drive, so it was exhausting. Being on the busy freeway was utterly
nerve-wracking. I was running on nervous energy Tuesday and Wednesday, but I
crashed on Thursday. Friday, Leslie was
to return home.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCDqqp4VrNrk7p_JGYvali2aKLEMJjbLB9A2YDBzI-RSstOMLQZjhg6owtLZ88aZeLHGRL82xOe8330YdqHsLg5UqIREoA1ZVr0KjmODOYL8S-fC2dYVvMN73rStApPedD15kcvmunkQ/s1600/894581_2939779230270_1800089529_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCDqqp4VrNrk7p_JGYvali2aKLEMJjbLB9A2YDBzI-RSstOMLQZjhg6owtLZ88aZeLHGRL82xOe8330YdqHsLg5UqIREoA1ZVr0KjmODOYL8S-fC2dYVvMN73rStApPedD15kcvmunkQ/s320/894581_2939779230270_1800089529_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Leslie
was having a less than wonderful time in the hospital. There’s always a new
nurse to deal with, and some are better than others. For the most part they’re
good, compassionate, and willing to go the extra mile. The bad ones are terrible.
Leslie had one such bad nurse. She didn’t read anything in Leslie's computer file, screwed up medication,
and then got super bitchy about it when Leslie corrected her. Then, she got paranoid when Leslie got stern with her. Apparently, she was worried about being reported, and rather than help Leslie and redeem herself, she avoided her completely. They're all worried about being reported. Also, it occurs to me that perhaps the bad nurse
thought Leslie was just another infirm old person (big, big mistake), and it
made me feel bad for seniors that <u>are</u> infirm and hospitalized. What
bad behaviors must they tolerate when they’re sick and confused? The hospital bed was uncomfortable, the pain
was hard to control, and Leslie hates to be alone. No one was there to fix the
pillows under her leg the way she wanted it or to make a dinner she’d really like (although to my
credit, my cooking isn’t half bad nowadays). What’s
worse, guarding her foot put incredible strain on the rest of her body,
aggravating both the osteo arthritis and the fibromyalgia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">On
Thursday, there was talk about whether Leslie could return home and be safe.
The words “skilled nursing facility” or SNF (pronounced “sniff”) were kicked
around. This made Leslie blanch. There was no need for a SNF, but still the
mere mention was scary. Leslie’s mother had spent time in a SNF when she had
cancer. It was affiliated with CPMC in
San Francisco, and for whatever reason, it was a dump. We ended up pulling her out, of course. I
know this was running through Leslie’s mind. That and how easy it is to be
taken down by a completely random and arbitrary bacteria. Without the right
support, someone to help you at home and run defense for you in the hospital, something like that can turn a robust 60 year old into a frail citizen
overnight. So, that Friday, the day
Leslie was to come home, a physical therapist paid her a visit to assess how
capable she was physically. She brought a small flight of stairs with her. Leslie climbed up and down those stairs,
despite the sweat and the pain, and got a green light to come home.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdDqsJb6NAUo-n3s3ehcE5tEPOur-1Vjj_WBrGoLMDBNI2y_wSTCqVZq_kUmnAGrPzzHFW21LxroM64e1orhA3hYJMcd_T4EwCzbXeNMZzJiocXD4NOAw30Rh7yWk56kIIReIoNwa7Tnw/s1600/doggies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdDqsJb6NAUo-n3s3ehcE5tEPOur-1Vjj_WBrGoLMDBNI2y_wSTCqVZq_kUmnAGrPzzHFW21LxroM64e1orhA3hYJMcd_T4EwCzbXeNMZzJiocXD4NOAw30Rh7yWk56kIIReIoNwa7Tnw/s320/doggies.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">In Leslie's absence, the
house felt really weird. The
dogs were out of sorts. Daizy seemed concerned but knew Leslie’s voice on the
phone when she heard it. In fact, before the hospital, Daizy was extremely attentive to Leslie, particularly when she was in pain. Teddy was a nervous wreck. He’s very attached to
Leslie. Any time of day or night, if the house got too loud, Teddy escaped immediately upstairs. Elizabeth is a real trooper, and was strong through the entire event.
But little things, words and actions, revealed her worry and the way she felt. Such is the way of kids. Being busy with
school and rehearsals was good.
I couldn't paint at all in Leslie’s absence. I was too distracted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Leslie’s
foot is getting better every day, but each night the pain gets very bad. She climbed a full flight of stairs Friday
night to sleep in her own bed, and it was work for sure. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Trust me.
The next time it looks like this is happening, if there is a next time, we won’t
waste a moment with doctors or oral antibiotics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Yesterday on Saturday, we all slept in until noon, which is unheard of for Leslie
and I. Elizabeth woke up with a sore
throat, so skipped rehearsal. My work as
Florence Nightingale continues. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We
needed the time together, all three of us.
No. All five of us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We
really needed it.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Read about the first time this happened to Leslie almost a year ago right <a href="http://sapphokinesis.blogspot.com/2012/06/file-this-under-random-occurence.html">here</a>.</span></div>
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Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-60414666212195219772013-02-12T08:41:00.000-08:002013-02-12T08:47:37.453-08:00Bean Hollow<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4XYbbcKSSV8S0XRVjYp8wdv1W3nfde4IdgieXMWY8_9VC0Php09Jsq83NCqem3tnRZ8fJwwLDwUFASY3RfA_GYkw9TtZujKus0zlkRWXU87rBhHOXzeCDOhhgCnYkydnqyMwPHzNoWE/s1600/leslie+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4XYbbcKSSV8S0XRVjYp8wdv1W3nfde4IdgieXMWY8_9VC0Php09Jsq83NCqem3tnRZ8fJwwLDwUFASY3RfA_GYkw9TtZujKus0zlkRWXU87rBhHOXzeCDOhhgCnYkydnqyMwPHzNoWE/s320/leslie+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
On February 9, 2011, we took a drive down Hwy One. Suddenly, almost 15 miles outside of Pescadero, we smelled burning breaks, so Leslie turned off the road onto what turned out to be the Bean Hollow rest area and Beach. The right back tire and hub cab had smoke pouring out of it, and it was so hot you couldn't touch it. Both Leslie and I saw sparks behind the tire, as well. <br />
<br />
Leslie got on the phone with AAA, and the representative she spoke to initially couldn't find us on the map. "What do you MEAN you can't find us?" Leslie wasn't happy. They also gave the tow truck the wrong address citing Bean Hollow Road as opposed to the Bean Hollow exit, not understanding how these things work off Hwy One. So, even though Leslie managed to connect with a decent AAA rep, we sat in the car, worrying, and watched the tow truck haul ass at 70 miles per hour on the highway right on by us. Leslie called back and despite being righteously stressed out, she managed to straighten it out. Finally a guy named Frank showed up. He was from a towing company in Pescadero, and he was kind enough to pull the tire so we could see what was going on behind it. When he jacked the car up, Elizabeth and I had to get out of the car. It was 46 degrees and dropping as the sun set, and of course no one had a jacket. All three of us were absolutely freezing. The two dogs were in the car, too, naturally, so we were worried about getting home. The tow truck had room for only one person in the cab, and taxi's don't generally appreciate taking dogs.<br />
<br />
We couldn't find any evidence of a problem. No dust, no darkness, no evidence of burning. It was quite strange. So, Leslie and Frank decided we'd drive the 14 miles North back to Pescadero, and if nothing happened, we'd go on toward Half Moon Bay and then Pacifica, which at that point was just over the hill. <br />
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We made the trip with no issues. Absolutely no trouble whatsoever. But my, we were glad to be home when we got there! There is nothing quite like your cozy house after a stressful and absolutely freezing afternoon.<br />
<br />
Leslie took the van to the dealer on Monday, and they pulled the back wheel and breaks apart looking for a problem. They found nothing. Near as we can figure, something got stuck in there. Something metal enough to cause scraping and sparks, and something tough enough to withstand all that road time.<br />
<br />
We chalk it up as another mystery in an already mysterious world.<br />
<br />
View the rest of the pictures taken at Bean Hollow on Flicker right <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thefabergirls/sets/72157632748467651/with/8466038151/">here</a>.Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-76582921488575446752013-02-06T10:22:00.002-08:002013-02-08T21:11:56.049-08:00A Lesson Learned the Hard Way<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2co7Z87dKD8KcALTcYaE_JtLgG4oKjB37wn_FReQSLRsYpSW5nnnXEaZHSQzuUjXdu-BDz7VMgWQJUg0d9ZGTyKpbLryQOF-l0F0nXVDjbaePhJInWPhDaFLte4GKioAo_JS1g0Iwho/s1600/iv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2co7Z87dKD8KcALTcYaE_JtLgG4oKjB37wn_FReQSLRsYpSW5nnnXEaZHSQzuUjXdu-BDz7VMgWQJUg0d9ZGTyKpbLryQOF-l0F0nXVDjbaePhJInWPhDaFLte4GKioAo_JS1g0Iwho/s1600/iv.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yesterday I learned a valuable lesson the hard way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day before yesterday, I was in the zone cleaning the
house. It felt so good to work with the
energy in our home and take care of things I either didn’t have the energy or
desire to do previously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What I didn’t do all day is take enough water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I woke up at 6 a.m. yesterday, which is the usual
time, to encourage Elizabeth out of bed.
Then, I went back to bed until 7, when Elizabeth is ready to go
downstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I woke up at 7 and was absolutely freezing. My body has hot and cold swings since the
vertical gastrectomy (weight loss surgery), and it’s primarily because I’ve
lost weight quickly. But yesterday morning,
my coldness was off the charts, even worse when my hormones were rearranging
after I had Elizabeth in 1997. I was
chattering so intensely, I couldn’t move.
Finally, after a good 10 minutes of trying, I managed to get up, get
downstairs, and put myself on the big chair in the living room. I was exhausted
and thought I had a relapse of the flu.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I spent the morning sleeping on and off, but what I couldn’t
comprehend was that I wasn’t making sense all the time. Leslie would ask me a question, and I mumbled
the answer. Not normal. I was also running a fever of 103 degrees, which
Tylenol couldn’t seem to bring down efficiently, and as you know, I can’t take
non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leslie got that urgent look in her eyes, and took
over the situation. We called the
doctor, and a nurse told Leslie to get me to the emergency room. I argued with
Leslie, but she was adamant. So I put myself together and off we went.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While in the waiting area at Mills Peninsula, I
actually passed out. First my ears began
ringing, and then I had to go to the bathroom.
They put me on a wheel chair, but once I got to the restroom, I was
lolling about like a rag doll. I
actually lost consciousness. Scary for me, but it was really scary for Leslie,
who yelled for help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were put in a room finally and waited forty
minutes for a doctor. I wasn't aware of the time,
however, because I slept most of the time.
It’s like I was in a trance. They took my blood (I was acutely aware of
this), and tested me for influenza (which was a q-tip shoved so far up my nose, it was ridiculous, creepy, and felt dreadful), and they hooked me up to an IV. I argued about that, too, but Leslie
insisted, thank God. The lady from the
lab remembered me from when I had my surgery and refused to have my blood
drawn. Everyone got a chuckle out of
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once my body had the fluids it needed, I began to
sharpen up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The lab results showed that I’m still slightly
anemic which means I have to take that god awful iron elixir every day
again. My white blood cells were also
elevated indicating there’s a mild infection somewhere. However, what was
absolutely clear was that I allowed myself to get dehydrated, hence the altered
state of consciousness and the intense sleeping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You know, I had a clue about this about a month
ago. I was in the mall with my
family. Elizabeth was spending her
Christmas money. I began to feel very
dizzy. I didn’t take enough water then
either.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The lesson here is that I can’t take my body for
granted like I could when I was a kid. I
must ensure I take enough water every day, even when I’m “in the zone”. And I must take my iron and all my vitamins
religiously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A person can’t lose weight this quickly and ignore
the body’s needs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you do, the body will protest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Loudly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-45220544930873178472013-01-22T23:21:00.002-08:002013-01-23T09:22:26.455-08:00Amma Must Be Due, Because I'm a Mess<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZVySbVgWZJhkCsaIEMNqxc1uJgNRlWq2-pkYzZFj1RvPdZRDmpUEHUtB4NQKOplSIK6LQZzr-BPcXhcjNvS4lpjKYBLYUXTeShp_b-sQshDgrBBxDry4RBoTVijDQOmLjKFdGTCHeDeM/s1600/swan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZVySbVgWZJhkCsaIEMNqxc1uJgNRlWq2-pkYzZFj1RvPdZRDmpUEHUtB4NQKOplSIK6LQZzr-BPcXhcjNvS4lpjKYBLYUXTeShp_b-sQshDgrBBxDry4RBoTVijDQOmLjKFdGTCHeDeM/s320/swan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Life has been moving 90 miles an hour since my unemployment ran out unexpectedly
in September (yes, I’m still tripping on that).
That’s not to assume no good things have happened, because they have. My weight loss is steady since weight loss
surgery in June (84 pounds down), </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"> been published with a by-line more than once in the local
paper, Elizabeth is doing well in school, and Leslie is still cooking up a
storm. Despite various stress related twitches,
we’re all more or less healthy. Yet,
keeping on top of home finances without busting a vein has been a challenge.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: small;">Initially,
I was focused on finding work, and of course, I wanted full time work. It </span>wasn't<span style="font-size: small;"> happening, particularly that close to the holidays.
Thanks to previously blogged guardian angels, I got two part time jobs that I continue to
be very grateful for. They are both
temporary positions I expect to wrap up by the end of March, although there has
always been uncertainty around one of them.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
was determined to get through Christmas on a good note because it’s important
to me. Not because I’m religious in the
conventional sense, but for other more personal reasons. I <b><i>needed</i></b> to provide my family with a decent
holiday, and I was anxious about it. It wasn't a materialistic one, but it was meaningful. Both Elizabeth and Leslie were happy and appreciative, and our little tree was the most beautiful we've had in years. I totally fell in love with it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've
done a lot of worrying over the last four months, which isn't me. I'm not the worrier in the family. I'm usually confident it'll turn out alright (whatever <b>it</b><span style="font-size: small;"> is) and cool with waiting to see what happens.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lately I've been unable to see that far, if you know what I mean.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Leslie,
Elizabeth and I were out last Sunday evening, and, as I was walking around, I felt normal one moment and super funky, I mean really down low, the next. I thought my
hormones were acting up, as though perhaps it was “that time in a woman’s life”
(and, by the way, it more or less is, although I like to think I’m being
graceful about it). The melt-down I had the end of the night was inevitable because I tried to push through it, when I should have rested.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The next morning I woke up with my muscles stuck to the mattress, sick as a dog. The whole day was about staying hydrated so I wouldn't end up in the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Yesterday,
I felt much better, but not well enough to go to work. Still, I tagged along with Leslie on an appointment to get some fresh air. I waited for her in the car. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">It
was the first time in months </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"> had a quiet hour to myself. So there I was in the van, jotting down my thoughts on a pad and watching the people go by. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally, </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was able to think.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="font-size: small;">All
this <b>worry</b> I'm doing challenges me on a basic and personal level. My last experience with
corporate </span>wasn't<span style="font-size: small;"> a good one. It was more like the polar opposite of good, or like getting a root canal that lasts a year. However, despite the personal cost and the anxiety, it gave me a way to take
care of my family. Now, as it becomes increasingly difficult to live on part-time jobs, I find myself longing for the consistency of regular full-time corporate employment. The
alternative, be it writing or another part-time job, just isn't coming through, and that isn't acceptable. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">As Leslie says, "You need to jump back into it."</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">How's that for ironic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My spiritual mother, Sri
Karunamayi, is due in the Bay Area in mid-March, the same general time my
temporary jobs are supposed to wrap up. I'm convinced it’s no coincidence that these insecurities around being a provider and corporate work break out of their little cages just as Amma’s visit approaches. It’s
happened this way before. The spiritually minded believe these things
happen the way they do to highlight what we most need to work on in the
presence of the masters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Well,
I definitely get the message. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Amma must be due, because I'm a big, nervous, worried mess.</span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-86067854980851015562013-01-13T16:06:00.001-08:002013-01-13T16:06:46.016-08:00Will writing save us again?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
woke up with anxiety today, and I’m not used to this outside of Corporate. I
think all the economic nonsense we’ve been through is making me gun shy. I’m
still at the gallery, but the gal I’m covering for could be back in a month.
And there is only one more semester of college papers before school is out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtf49Vcd4d4mhZ6L3R1OhZXqYDL3An8Cl8Mv36aTyda59Q2m75JFNU3d3Rl5SZr1P-PtZOnzdPkxFHSDOK8nHb1CzJ5PRMv6vzwgYIyti9AwI7p806bxfjMabqnom72g4EuXlrFtwvz9g/s1600/typewriter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtf49Vcd4d4mhZ6L3R1OhZXqYDL3An8Cl8Mv36aTyda59Q2m75JFNU3d3Rl5SZr1P-PtZOnzdPkxFHSDOK8nHb1CzJ5PRMv6vzwgYIyti9AwI7p806bxfjMabqnom72g4EuXlrFtwvz9g/s200/typewriter.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
called my old boss right after Christmas because I didn’t have her address and
couldn’t send her a card. I wanted to
see how she was. She was let go before I was, and then in the following months
her husband was laid off of his job, as well, leaving them with one quarter of
their previous income. In our
conversation, she mentioned her husband went to a seminar wherein a speaker
described the working landscape in Europe as being full of contractors. People there take a succession of temporary
or part-time jobs. This, of course,
eliminates both on-boarding and benefits costs to companies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
wonder what it’s done to the workforce. I know what's it's doing to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">How
do you avoid worrying about where the next job will come from?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
keep hoping, wishing and hoping, that all this writing I’m doing will amount to
something. My last press release was published in the Pacifica Tribune with a
by-line. That’s my second by-line for the Trib. I’ve got another article coming
up this week, too. And the work I’m doing
for the AGP blog gets compliments from everyone. I’m knee deep in my novel, too, although I’ve
done numerous re-writes and changed the title.
Soon, I’ll be ready for Book 2.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
love to do art, and I have a really cool idea for the next AGP exhibition, but
my writing is what saves me, I think.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wouldn’t
it be nice if it saved us this time?</span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-46495314155093413242012-11-24T12:33:00.002-08:002012-11-24T12:33:48.334-08:00BLANK WALLS AND INSPIRATION<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Life has a funny way of pushing me around. It’s been like that since I was a kid. There
are times when I feel like I’m in control, but clearly at other times (like now)
someone or something else is at the helm. Control is an illusion, but every
once in a while, I get a hint of things to come.</span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When we first moved into Pacifica, we’d drive up and
down Linda Mar Boulevard. Each time we did, we went past the Sanchez Art
Center. At night, the neon ART sign was
on, and I was attracted to it like a moth.
Why?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, now I’m working there part time and indulging
my curiosity. I’m also working in a way that beneficially combines my
facilities experience, my writing, and my art.
I’m learning about operating the building full of art studios. I’m doing publicity and writing press releases.
And soon I’ll learn more about marketing and putting an exhibition together. These are all compelling subjects that take
my creativity to the next level while enhancing my knowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1iW9qCAVZKxShX7pfZm2eKMTc6NJCrk8M9-YxREqvnCvIO7cRxhFstlfBsqgP9-Ac_QyKEheMB20Y4Ykn56IeoKANikaQ3rvn7ZuGc8A_3osBp-tCey05uv23WEqzSTkq2D1QKau38I/s1600/sanchez+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1iW9qCAVZKxShX7pfZm2eKMTc6NJCrk8M9-YxREqvnCvIO7cRxhFstlfBsqgP9-Ac_QyKEheMB20Y4Ykn56IeoKANikaQ3rvn7ZuGc8A_3osBp-tCey05uv23WEqzSTkq2D1QKau38I/s200/sanchez+1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t regret a moment spent in Corporate. The
private sector treated me well and gave me professional confidence. I had our daughter while in private sector, and
Leslie had quite a few serious surgeries, too. None of them cost us a dime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, it seems Corporate has turned its back on me. In
the past, getting a job was so easy, and done in just a few weeks after moving
cross country. I’ve submitted up to seven resumes on-line a week for almost two
years, and have been on only two interviews.
When I lost my unemployment unexpectedly (another story altogether), and
put out an S.O.S., two jobs emerged through friends. Both revolve around my writing. In fact, I’ve
been published with a by-line in the local paper. I even have a writing resume now, which is
totally cool. Life is steering me in a
new direction, and it is exciting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Truth to tell, I don’t want to go back into
corporate full time. It pays very well,
but I find it oppressive. The last job I
had nearly tore me apart as I waited to be let go. Naturally, working in non-profit doesn’t pay as
well, but it nurtures my spirit. As I approach my mid-century mark, I need this
as much as I needed weight loss surgery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Last week, I walked through the dark, empty halls at
Sanchez Art Center, and I felt completely in the moment. The Center is between exhibitions, so nothing
is up on the walls. It was a symbolic slice
of time carved out of the continuum just for me. Every dark doorway was a
possibility, and every blank wall was an inspiration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I embrace where I am right now, and I want to see
what’s behind each and every door. I
want to explore each facet of my creativity, and every career opportunity that
knocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I want this change. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-63088585919559586472012-10-20T19:27:00.001-07:002012-10-20T19:30:16.122-07:00Tracey Loves John<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
hated high school. I don’t mean
dislike. I mean bonafide loathing. People who consider high school the best
years of their life are entirely foreign to me. I just don’t get it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
first two years in high school were spent staying aloft in the chaos that was
my mother’s life, fighting stress, and taking refuge in dancing school. In my
junior year, over the weekend of the junior prom, circumstances with my mother
and the psychopath she married got violent, so I left to live with my
grandparents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
lived with Thelma and Ed on the other side of town, but still went to Jonny Law
High. Each day when school was over,
Miss Connie would be outside waiting to give me a lift to her dancing school
where I assisted and demonstrated for the classes she taught. She was special
to me. She bought me my first car, an old powder blue Rambler I named Gladys
after Judy McIntyre’s grandmother. It took me close to a year to decompress
after leaving the flea infested hovel my brothers and I lived in with my
mother. Some days, I’d get all the way to school, driven by my grandmother;
only to feel so burned out I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t bother going to first
period when that happened. I’d call my
grandmother, and she never, ever squawked about turning around and driving all
the way back across town to pick me up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Okay,
honey, I’ll be right there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
felt lost in high school. I didn’t fit there.
I bet many kids felt that way, but the only place I fit was at Connie’s
school. I was upset, confused, and ever so full of myself. My friends kept me
afloat in that sea of turmoil. I had
some good friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
hung out in the school library with Tracey.
She was a diehard Beetles fan and was desperately and very seriously in
love with John Lennon. I went to her house once after school and was floored by
her homage to the Fab Four. She seemed to have the entire upstairs to herself.
One room was her bedroom, and the other room, a little bigger than a walk in
closet, was devoted entirely to the Beetles. Every inch of every wall was
plastered with pictures. It was the coolest, most profound demonstration of
true and obsessive love I’d ever seen, and it towered miles high in devotion
over my shrine to Dolly Parton, whom I adored.
I’ve never forgotten that room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tracy
and I would spend entire class periods hanging out in the library’s private
reading room listening to John Lennon and Dolly on the record player. We were juniors when John Lennon was assassinated. I was sitting on a desk in Advanced Biology,
and Tracey appeared at the door with a black band on her arm and fresh tears of
mourning streaming down her face. She’d
lost her first true love. To this day,
Tracey still carries a torch for John, just as I will always adore Dolly. Some
teenage crushes never go away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
completely lost track of Tracey after high school. I got involved with Leslie, and our
relationship moved me 3,000 miles across the United States. We had a baby; we’ve
bought and sold houses, and moved across country twice. I’m still here 27 years later. A few years back, Tracey appeared on
Facebook. It was crazy to hear from her
again. She gave me hell for changing my name
because it made me difficult to find. We’ve
been Facebook friends ever since, reliving old times and getting reacquainted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Tracey
has been married to the same man for years. She got her teaching degree and taught
elementary school in Floyd County in between having four incredibly beautiful
and well-adjusted children. She’s highly opinionated, politically minded, and
is an advocate for the LGBT community in the college where she teaches. She runs
a learning resource center, and a bunch of people report to her. What’s more,
she loves her job and the people who work for her. She’s a success story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
my unemployment ended unexpectedly in mid-September and Leslie and I felt the
bottom fall out of our financial security, Tracey was one of the few who
offered us substantial help. I got a
message from her on Facebook asking me if I wanted to remotely tutor her
students. There were papers to be
reviewed, and things to do! She offered
me a temporary, part-time position that I desperately needed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
talked to Tracey over the phone the other day, and doing so was a blast from
the past. She sounds much as I remember her, but she’s picked up a regional
accent that I find delightful. I had trouble expressing my gratitude. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
know, we grow up with certain people in our lives, and they have so much to do
with how we navigate our world. When I was a
teenager, my friends anchored me, kept me from floating away, but I didn't expect most of them to hang around for
long. I rarely look to the past for my
solace, and have gotten the hang of living in the now. That’s what makes Tracey so remarkable to
me. She wasn’t content to sit in the past on Facebook. She insinuated herself right into my present,
and she did it when I needed her the most.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thank
you, Tracey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-41816141872490401282012-10-15T20:44:00.002-07:002012-10-15T21:58:43.155-07:00GUARDIAN ANGELS<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsLKqGHe6t-ZL08L_fDSmMybQru9WhYQXWsXIFZTalPdTPCdOwLOw019pUE4RaEBkkaV1m0LjU6Ld6dr6rlGA7g-UC_1ua5A2d-3RfR-ulOz3NiL3L6KlFlfv0kNzAubH23dOhWQzO54/s1600/8081917066_a3b114052c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsLKqGHe6t-ZL08L_fDSmMybQru9WhYQXWsXIFZTalPdTPCdOwLOw019pUE4RaEBkkaV1m0LjU6Ld6dr6rlGA7g-UC_1ua5A2d-3RfR-ulOz3NiL3L6KlFlfv0kNzAubH23dOhWQzO54/s320/8081917066_a3b114052c_b.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leslie at Linda Mar Beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's been a crazy few weeks since discovering my unemployment insurance ran out unexpectedly; a real mash up wonderful and difficult that never leaves us bored or needing something to do. I've come to the conclusion that being unemployed is a full time job, particularly when the chips are down and you're scrambling to pay the utilities and mortgage.<br />
<br />
All financial dramas aside, I think we're in fairly good shape emotionally. Elizabeth found her groove in school and seems fully recovered from the problem she had with the Cabrillo Bullies and other Malcontents. She's got a darling new beau, one who isn't in a rush to grow up much like she, and rather than inhibiting her creative nature like she was compelled to do last year, she is more herself than ever, right down to the set of Pikachu Power Cheeks.<br />
<br />
Leslie is hanging in there. Being in this transitional place regarding home finances has got to be her least favorite place in the entire universe; yet to her credit, she remains poised and engaged. There are times when, like myself, she feels like her head might explode, but rather than lighting the fireworks, she simply goes to lie down for a while. Suffice it to say this unemployment adventure has forced us to mature in many unexpected ways. She and I, and indeed Elizabeth as well, are more a team than ever before. What buoyancy we have in the family is due to efforts by all of us to remain upbeat and positive despite the obvious.<br />
<br />
Me? I'm doing alright. Still losing weight although it's slowed down because I'm not working out much lately. I've been incredibly focused on getting work with little time for anything else, and some opportunities have come forward. Without getting into details, let me say that Pacifica and it's Art Guild are peppered with Guardian Angels and a very giving spirit. Between that and the Guardian Angels residing on Facebook, I feel incredibly blessed by people who are watching out for us and contributing to our well-being in a substantial manner. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4UParcUGogyEsuzDdVnFuO0PG-6tSTYLIX0lVLB-rXU09ie6TCLPt230S0iy3eGP0QrERFtghwxE3OAMoo5p2LIC5jAqD6MvWbYZyMCSrOdpBzYXAMrFZq8U7y2rhD19pSlMh2thWrQ/s1600/8081922289_1c60f57efd_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4UParcUGogyEsuzDdVnFuO0PG-6tSTYLIX0lVLB-rXU09ie6TCLPt230S0iy3eGP0QrERFtghwxE3OAMoo5p2LIC5jAqD6MvWbYZyMCSrOdpBzYXAMrFZq8U7y2rhD19pSlMh2thWrQ/s200/8081922289_1c60f57efd_b.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leslie, Elizabeth & The Joker</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm still in a holding pattern on the BIG JOB in Redwood City, the one that will pay for Elizabeth's braces at the expense of my somewhat reluctantly re-entering Private Sector servitude. Until I am thrust back onto that Merry-Go-Round, I'll continue to enrich myself at SAC, doing what is highly rewarding intellectually. When the irons I have in the fire grow flames, I'll have a better idea of where we stand and perhaps sleep better and have fewer disturbing dreams.<br />
<br />
The Art Guild continues to be a source of constant pleasure, and as what I'm doing at SAC naturally intersects with it, it becomes doubly satisfying. Some members are becoming friends in a truer sense, surpassing mere acquaintances to become something richer. I'm doing alot of writing for the Guild and had a press release with my name in the by-line printed in the Pacifica Tribune recently. That made me so happy! Opening night of AGP's Member Exhibition and award show was last Friday, and all three of went and had a great time. I got a lot of compliments on my piece, and those who didn't recognize my work congratulated me on the article. It was just what I needed. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQTCOnMijbWP2lS3Bb72wJ992J45Nl-lhv-jUyi2lNCCUG48Klh5ZL7xxnikr_tcyoMdeKgujvNiR0GZah6BpJ3623u7QF9FdMlPwrh-9FBJmgSpA4SEadDeETwra3NcN1vVBUKeCEjg/s1600/Pikachu+onesie+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQTCOnMijbWP2lS3Bb72wJ992J45Nl-lhv-jUyi2lNCCUG48Klh5ZL7xxnikr_tcyoMdeKgujvNiR0GZah6BpJ3623u7QF9FdMlPwrh-9FBJmgSpA4SEadDeETwra3NcN1vVBUKeCEjg/s320/Pikachu+onesie+collage.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gonna be Pikachu for Halloween! Woot!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've said it before but I'll say it again. We'll be in this place, no matter how difficult, until we are released, and in the meantime, we'll do the best we can with it. It's a lot like surfing. Each wave is another economic challenge.<br />
<br />
Still, if it weren't for our Guardian Angels and their unending support, it would be so much harder. Maybe too hard. Offering the kind of help that my parents and extended family never did (with the exception of my maternal grandparents), they reinforce my faith in the human spirit. Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-22094620306282495142012-10-04T23:40:00.001-07:002012-10-05T09:36:28.584-07:00If It's Not All Well, Then It's Not The End<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
last time I blogged I just found out my unemployment insurance was exhausted. Don’t ask me how something that important could
possibly be unexpected, because I’m still wondering that myself. My head absolutely exploded as Leslie and I teetered
on the edge of a very precarious cliff, neither side of which guaranteed any
mortgage payments in our immediate future.
Crisis mode!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Since
then, a few things have changed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Immediately
after hearing the bad news mentioned above, I sent out an S.O.S. to everyone I
know in Pacifica. I sent them my professional
resume and asked if they would share it with work connections, etc. And one of those people came back with a
wonderful little opportunity for part time contracted work at the local art
center. This is the place where the Art Guild has most of their shows. I’ve been attracted to this place ever since
we moved to Pacifica, and the woman I’m working with is at a super busy time of
the year and feels that I was sent to her.
Kismet! I’m learning all about
running a gallery, and how to keep artist studios rented and full, and how to
run their non-profit business. It’s the
kind of work that is good for the spirit, but not so good for the pocket book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Meanwhile,
I’m waiting to hear on another part time opportunity brought to my attention by
an old high school chum who was kind enough to respond to the post-crisis
freaking out I did on Facebook. I mean,
this really touches my heart. She’s a fun,
crazy person who has raised four gorgeous, smart and talented children, but I’d
sort of lost track of her. Finding her
on Facebook (actually, she found me) was a blessing, and we’ve had a lot of fun
with one another on-line since. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then,
a job I applied for in a mid-size accounting firm, one that pays very well, began
to gain traction immediately after my employment insurance fiasco. I found this position through a placement
agency. My resume was put in front of
them over a month ago, but I hadn’t heard anything. I thought for sure it was a
done deal. Then, they called me in for
an interview, the kind where you sit in a conference room and meet one person after
another. I prepared for two days, so my
interviews went very well. I’m hoping to be called back for round two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Leslie
and I find ourselves in the uncomfortable transition between crisis and
resolution. While it would be much more comfortable to know precisely where the
money for the mortgage will come from, instead we must have faith that all will
turn out. What do they say? All will be well in the end, and if it’s not
well, then it’s not the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-23815385695936892472012-09-26T22:51:00.000-07:002012-09-26T23:03:34.842-07:00My Claim is Exhausted and So Am I<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuD7_5F4EVQqUgvq2632LC_1xX8-gbiutyoy3Ae4mznyCk06NRzIpWBmt__OEIio9eLDW0gEl7HKdSnR9VDWrF0gmNh3f9dPnYZAXkygbg093Il0F7mHZno68VGPseD1F_y9UrNAjDfM/s1600/liz+mustache.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuD7_5F4EVQqUgvq2632LC_1xX8-gbiutyoy3Ae4mznyCk06NRzIpWBmt__OEIio9eLDW0gEl7HKdSnR9VDWrF0gmNh3f9dPnYZAXkygbg093Il0F7mHZno68VGPseD1F_y9UrNAjDfM/s200/liz+mustache.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
last time I blogged here I wrote about worry.
I was worried (whining) about work and my unemployment benefits ending
around December 31 of this year, and all sorts of other stuff. Imagine my surprise when I found out this
morning that my unemployment claim was exhausted, as in no money left … at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There
was some weirdness going on with my most recent unemployment payment, and
because I was worried about October, I had to talk to someone in the unemployment office. I’d made a number of financial promises, and
we had plans in anticipation of having a third check when usually there are
only two. October just turned out that
way, giving us a chance to catch up with a few things. So, I spent the last two
days dialing 1-800-300-5616 (dial 1 for English, dial 2 for Spanish, dial 3 to
toss your cell phone in the garbage disposal and watch with glee as it’s torn
to shreds). I finally got through to
someone this morning at about 8:50 a.m. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
explaining my problem, I was advised that I had zero dollars left to my
claim. I even have something in writing
from the EDD indicating I was good to go until the end of December, but no. 0 + 0 = 0 … you could drive a truck between
the vague loopholes in communication from the EDD. I’m a smart woman, and still I missed the
difference between having an open claim and having a fully funded claim. I was advised of this by a completely
apathetic woman, and even as I began to tear up in frustration and feel a
little hysterical (no act there), I thought why hadn’t anyone mentioned
this? I’d talked with someone about my
problem two times previously with two separate people over the last couple of
days and NO ONE bothered to mention “Hey, are you aware that you are down to
your last $450?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
head exploded. I mean, really. It flew apart into a million pieces. How would I pay the mortgage? Never mind all
the other bills. Screw all that. How will we pay the mortgage was all I could
think of. Hearing all this from where
she was in the living room, I could hear Leslie’s heartbeat start racing like a
runaway train. She had no chest pain, of
course, but I knew the stress would be hard to bear. How many times had we talked about how lucky we were that we had enough money to cover the mortgage even though I wasn't working? A day ago, I thought my benefits would expire
the end of December, and having a few irons in the fire, I was prepared to do
so temp work if necessary. Now, temp
work is urgent. My next thought was how do we tell Elizabeth?
She’s already so good about all this, but now she has to worry about losing her
home? There is no family to call for
help. It’s just the three of us and has been for years. So, it’s up to us to make it work. She knows this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After
the initial shock, and after cleaning my exploded grey matter off the walls, I
started writing, networking, to everyone I could think of who might have a tip
on a job, and every temp agency I’ve ever done business with. The opportunity at Redwood Shores ironically
gained some traction today becoming a job I am uniquely qualified for. I have a
phone interview in the morning. And I’ve got an appointment in the afternoon
with a temp agency so I can get some income happening. Then, we had to go to an eye doctor's appointment that took forever to get and Leslie really needed to take. I waited for her in the lobby for over an hour, and it was the longest hour of my life. You know how it feels when you need to be doing something, anything, and all you can do is sit?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
Elizabeth got home, we explained what happened, and she asked questions
like “Do I have to worry about being homeless?” and “Do I have to be afraid?” I explained the difference
between sending in resumes over the internet for a permanent job and hearing
nothing, versus getting temp work with an agency when you need it. She understood I would get something soon.
She teared up a little, but recovered quickly.
As I exclaimed about what a stressful day it was, she said, “But you’re
not being mean.” That sort of stopped me in my tracks. She explained that
when dealing with the stress of the last job, I was mean at home. Her words really opened my eyes. I realized how stressed out that place, my last
place of permanent employment, had really made me; how difficult the enduring
uncertainty and tension there, the nastiness of people’s behavior, had worn me
down. It was so bad that I was angry and upset virtually all the time. My fifteen year old opened my eyes to
this in a way that hadn't occurred previously. I told her I wouldn’t let that
happen again. I'd had plenty of time to rest and bounce back from all that stress, and I told her I was sorry. She answered, "It's okay, Nana. Can we study my French now?" Kids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
say it’ll be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright, it’s not the
end. Well, it’s about 10:30 p.m., and I
feel like I’ve been whacked about the head hard with a reality stick. And when the cosmic joker was done with me, he
started whacking Leslie. We were both
feeling stunned, but we stuck together like glue. Now we’re just tired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
need to work. I don’t care what it is. If I’m capable of doing it and it’s
enough to cover the bills, I’ll do it. I
have current secretarial skills, I’m a good manager, and I’m a good leader with
a strong facilities background. My
resume is strong, and I have years of experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
sending out my need and desire into the ether like it’s a palpable thing. Right
now it is. I send it on Raven’s wings
and dragon’s flight, and I know my intent will find its destination … and soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
as to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-50841670824838037722012-09-24T00:33:00.002-07:002012-09-24T00:33:55.709-07:00COMING SOON <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOkKU7Z6JYjoIV5FFp0-7gkPT_iEYuYH5BohhyphenhyphenGeXR6g1uwTf00WgYxyo4tSfIdZ_-S2jE94rYYEG-IenRY0poANMH_1g20SJeaSJFdDXO8EtDB49O-qV6_Wv50Z1LR2qiWgf_3e9sGg/s1600/54thpc_frontbig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOkKU7Z6JYjoIV5FFp0-7gkPT_iEYuYH5BohhyphenhyphenGeXR6g1uwTf00WgYxyo4tSfIdZ_-S2jE94rYYEG-IenRY0poANMH_1g20SJeaSJFdDXO8EtDB49O-qV6_Wv50Z1LR2qiWgf_3e9sGg/s400/54thpc_frontbig.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWc1pruEGJkg4xq9H5CNvmSvzU4Ew0dRmSm9DxCDyGH_wS-XS3nH3L4XeoM2yamjv_InQrADOmrfkOH7WS-8iAx177cZn-OueWyxbGoBNmRK5xf-cUKsuA-F9dcu7QkzFzVjqpxDMDRU/s1600/Galleria+Postcard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWc1pruEGJkg4xq9H5CNvmSvzU4Ew0dRmSm9DxCDyGH_wS-XS3nH3L4XeoM2yamjv_InQrADOmrfkOH7WS-8iAx177cZn-OueWyxbGoBNmRK5xf-cUKsuA-F9dcu7QkzFzVjqpxDMDRU/s400/Galleria+Postcard.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-37382110599343080272012-09-15T13:35:00.000-07:002012-09-15T13:35:15.081-07:00Worry<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGUf-gdFqrmEMlBEkC6yI7BmquVf5JE0YTxXlHGajSsc5zPJhTStaM3mSjihxhe-8XmEyPnuIEHS2S985WWwjp1qsoTfGSQ3e6zepub4RFIuvOlIzfP9dZY2_4alNNxlIIBWRQnWXm_E/s1600/donna+thinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGUf-gdFqrmEMlBEkC6yI7BmquVf5JE0YTxXlHGajSsc5zPJhTStaM3mSjihxhe-8XmEyPnuIEHS2S985WWwjp1qsoTfGSQ3e6zepub4RFIuvOlIzfP9dZY2_4alNNxlIIBWRQnWXm_E/s200/donna+thinner.jpg" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me looking thinner!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
have so much on my mind right now. I’ve
been out of work for almost two years, despite submitting resumes every week
and lowering my salary requirements. I’ve
had no more than four calls, and two were from agencies. The most current was a job I’m perfect for,
but the company is giving priority to an internal candidate. My resume hasn’t
been rejected, but it’s more than two weeks.
My unemployment insurance ends on December 31, and that’s a little less
than four months away, so I’m worried. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Christmas
is coming, too, and when living paycheck to paycheck, it’s more a cause for stress. Figuring out a way to give my daughter a
Christmas occupies a lot of my head space, even though I know that things will
turn out alright in the end. And if it’s
not alright, then it’s not the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">These
thoughts strike me as somewhat ironic. When I was working, I had no idea how
hard it could be for families out of work.
Well, I’ve learned. Leslie and I
have matured a lot over the last two years. We’ve really identified the line
that exists between what we need and what we want, and we rarely cross it. If we do, it’s for our daughter; and she’s
such a team player that she asks for very little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
I was working, I spent a lot of time pondering the difference between time and
money, and realizing I seem to have one or the other. When I was working, I had
very little time. Now that I’m not working, I’ve had lots, and I’ve used it
wisely. I’ve made lots of art. Done lots
of blogging. I’m working on and am half
way through my first novel, and I’m having loads of fun with the Art Guild of
Pacifica. There are a few shows coming up like the AGP Member’s Show (I want to
make a new piece for that), and the big Galleria, which showcases open walls
and a salon style show. I really enjoy
AGP. And, of course, I had bariatric
weight loss surgery in June. I’ve lost
more than 60 pounds already and am happy every day that I had it done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
least we’ve always been able to pay the mortgage. I don’t want that to change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ll
end up registering with a couple of temp agencies and falling back on the secretarial
skills my grandmother (rip) insisted I get coming out of high school. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Whatever
it takes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-44796244091100587602012-08-15T00:04:00.001-07:002012-08-15T21:34:00.526-07:00Adjustments at Eight Weeks<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBlGypFUkQEjW2OrmXMebXR_f9Y7iyk6IRm4o00RnHZRMRZO_aeqU55lR5CoJ3pFl9GC17tbR9bd7pcktlBuqmPfeqnvXXufTxeNDQAkRv78AbPIvri6k9W1S8x9J1QiG3qZNYtz9Tu8/s1600/donna+happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSBlGypFUkQEjW2OrmXMebXR_f9Y7iyk6IRm4o00RnHZRMRZO_aeqU55lR5CoJ3pFl9GC17tbR9bd7pcktlBuqmPfeqnvXXufTxeNDQAkRv78AbPIvri6k9W1S8x9J1QiG3qZNYtz9Tu8/s200/donna+happy.jpg" width="118" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
been eight weeks since my surgery, the vertical gastrectomy, for weight loss,
and I’ve lost a total of fifty pounds exactly.
I’m losing between 2 and 5 pounds a week. I’ve had to make some adjustments, but I’m
excited to be well on the way to achieving my goal: to be thinner, leaner and
healthier at 50 years old. The knowledge
that I took significant steps toward that goal is liberating, exciting, and
most important confidence building.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
first and most significant adjustment is the loss of non-steroidal anti-inflammatories.
This is the medicine I was taking for painful joints, but as a category
includes ibuprofen, naproxyn, asprin, Celebrex, diclofenac, etc. These medicines are off the menu for certain
because of the stress put on the stomach lining potentially causing ulcers.
That would be the worst. Leslie’s neice,
Tami, ended up with an ulcer after the same procedure (for different reasons)
and had to tolerate a feeding tube up her nose for six weeks. I miss these medicines more than ever because
we’re working out regularly now (thanks to a good and generous friend). The three of us go as a family, and I’ve
started with 40 minutes of cardio (20 on the bike and 20 on the treadmill).
Then, I do some strength training on Nautilus type equipment. Leslie and I struggle along as Elizabeth
smokes both of us jogging on the treadmill like a pro. She’s an inspiration, and actually got us
started on this road to a healthier lifestyle. By the end of a work-out day, my hips and joints are screaming and 800 mg of good ol' ibuprofen would fit the bill!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhb6JP3sKkTcK2iwP4uYEx-abz61YEjlfJ2P9ieyLW4ZZATk3Supry0FwZdxCo1995LudNTFDT8uyWmLKGensrwMBCKY4zq8pRSuktv8oq9tkiW1gUnVnfMd7olTbaZZi4X9U8u1Q1Gg/s1600/leslie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhb6JP3sKkTcK2iwP4uYEx-abz61YEjlfJ2P9ieyLW4ZZATk3Supry0FwZdxCo1995LudNTFDT8uyWmLKGensrwMBCKY4zq8pRSuktv8oq9tkiW1gUnVnfMd7olTbaZZi4X9U8u1Q1Gg/s200/leslie.jpg" width="147" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
next significant adjustment is something I still work on, and it’s employing an
understanding of the difference between head hunger and real hunger in daily
eating. Word is that when you’re feeling
head hunger you crave something specific.
Real hunger will be satisfied by eating anything good. This can lead to eating too much or eating too
quickly which has only one result … vomiting, which can stress the internal
stitches. So, it’s important to be aware when eating. Also, anything even remotely resembling raw vegetables
causes the same result. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Heartburn
is my latest best friend and with me almost constantly, although my surgeon
says it’ll go away in time. Not soon
enough for me thank you. Ironically,
however, there isn’t a bottle of Maalox to be found on the Peninsula. The pharmacist told us it was recalled. The
key is to eat simple foods, so I’m highly focused on getting enough protein and
staying hydrated. So far I’m managing at least two water bottles a day. I want to be thinner, but I don’t want to be
a thin person trapped in a bag of wrinkles.
Water is the key to avoiding this personal hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
still get a little tired, but I think much of it is continued recovery from the
surgery itself. For example, last
weekend we did a yard sale, so I did a lot of lifting in the sun. I was knocked out by the end of the day, and
consequently received a serious reminder from my general physician. Recovering
from major abdominal surgery can take three to six months … so don’t act too
butch!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On
the flipside, I’m getting into clothes that have been sitting in the closet for
over eight years. This is really what
confirms the weight loss to me personally.
I pulled a shirt out of the closet to put on today fully expecting it to
be snug still, and lo and behold it was a little big! Fifty pounds makes a big difference!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bottom
Line: It’s my 48<sup>th</sup> birthday,
and I’ve taken significant steps toward my 50 year goal. I feel happy, healthier, and confident, and
my entire family is on board reaping the benefits of this change in life. It feels really good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8559820615557207332.post-79409593187784174952012-08-04T21:16:00.000-07:002012-08-04T21:16:32.910-07:00What's the Delay?<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
really enjoy blogging. Now that I’m involved with the Art Guild of Pacifica,
there are an endless number of people, exhibitions, shows, and art styles to
write about. AGP has a blog on blogger,
and while any AGP member can author an article, most people don’t seem to have
the time. I’ve got time on my hands these
days, so I’m truly enjoying myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
I wonder … is this taking me away from my novel? I’ve been closed mouth about my fiction novel
entitled “Faultlines”, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and
something I definitely want to finish before I go back to work. Time is ticking on that account. I’ve grown concerned that writing a novel is
a little bit like dieting, very overwhelming, and so am I avoiding it? While I
found a way to support my efforts at better health with bariatric surgery
(vertical gastrectomy aka “stomach staple”), I think the only way to get my
novel done is to simply write it. One
step at a time, one page at a time, one day at a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So,
what is holding me back? What am I afraid of?
I really need to figure this out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Donna L. Faberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07699900003668551896noreply@blogger.com0